Kamau's Love
by rueandginny11
Summary: A short story about Kamau, a fourteen year old boy from District 11, who is in love with Rue, his best friend. He is heartbroken when she is killed in the Hunger Games, and, filled with anger at the Capitol for killing the girl he loved, commits an act that twists the story into a modern Romeo and Juliet tragedy.
1. Chapter 1

Kamau traced her face on the piece of dry, rough paper, scratching out her form with a gray pencil. He'd asked her to hold still, to stay in one position so he could capture that wistful look of hers, but Rue couldn't help but to fidget. She locked eyes with him, brown eyes that glittered with an everlasting twinkle, and mouthed one word: _Please_. Kamau smiled, and threw down his pencil.

"Fine!" he called, rolling up the portrait with his slender, dark fingers. "Next time you want a portrait, it won't be free."

Rue hopped off the stool she had been sitting on, and lightly punched Kamau in the shoulder. "Hey, you were the one who wanted to draw me. I didn't sign up to be your model."

"I won't be asking you again; you're a terrible one," Kamau replied, flashing her a smile. They were silent for a moment, and then Rue looked up at him. She was small for twelve years of age, petite, with springy hair that cascaded in dark curls from her scalp. Her sparkling eyes were lidded with long lashes, her cheeks rosy, her eye-brows smooth and soft, her face always innocently shining, tinting with humor and kindness. Kamau was fourteen, lean and tall, and he was in love. He was in love with Rue. He'd never told her, and didn't plan to, unless—Kamau gazed down into Rue's eyes again, and his stomach was cluttered with the sensation he always felt around her. He could feel electricity shooting from her eyes, empathy somehow reeking from her hands. The hands he so longed to hold, but couldn't. Rue was his best friend, and he was sure she didn't have such feelings for him. She was still too young, too naïve, to think of him as anything more than a companion.

"Kamau?" she asked softly.

He looked intently down at her, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He took a breath.

"Do you think they'll pick me? You know—at the reaping?"

Kamau couldn't restrain himself. He grasped Rue's hand, and pulled her towards him so that her soft, sweet-smelling hair was resting on his chest. "They won't, Rue. Don't worry."

He could feel Rue shivering in his arms, and, afraid that she was scared of _him_, instinctively let go.

Rue managed a smile, and then a laugh, and hugged him. "You didn't do anything, Kamau."

"Oh. Alright," he swallowed, and as he hugged her, Kamau shut his eyes. For a moment, his world was completely still and peaceful. He was with Rue, he was hugging Rue, and he had never felt such love for anyone in his entire life.


	2. Chapter 2

Kamau grasped the rough roots of the weed, and in a single thrust, removed it from the cracked, dried dirt. Blazing rays of sun penetrated his back, and he felt sticky and sore with heat. He took a moment to wipe his sweaty arm against the coarse leather of his sleeve, and glanced around the massive field. Golden stalks of wheat soared high above his head, and floated carelessly in the wind. They had no cares, no worries. Kamau felt a surge of envy spiral through him. How he wished he could live in a world where he didn't have to worry about anything, where he could live peacefully. Where he could spend time with Rue, oblivious to the cruel dictatorship of Panem's Capital to its twelve outlying districts, the punishment of the Peace-keepers who advised the fields, and the Hunger Games. Just the thought of the Games chilled Kamau's soul with contempt and, although he tried to stay strong for Rue, fear. Not that she needed it. Rue could turn anything into a joke.

Kamau had heard the same story over and over again. After a series of horrific catastrophes destroyed the Ancient World, the country of Panem arose. It consisted of thirteen districts and a ruling Capital, and after a time of peace, the districts began to revolt against their rulers. A full blown war followed, and in the end, the thirteenth district was destroyed, and the other twelve greatly weakened. The victorious Capital regained power, and, in an attempt to remind the remaining districts of their rights as ruler, devised the Hunger Games. Every year, all twelve districts were required to send a male and female tribute no younger than 12 and no older than 18 to fight to the death in the Capital's Hunger Games Arena. The pageant was televised, and the tributes were selected by means of a drawing. Kamau shuddered as he resumed digging up the rough weeds. He knew that, if he were to be drawn from the thousands of slips from his district, he would stand no chance in the Hunger Games Arena. He was athletic enough; eight years of field labor had only made him lean and strong, but Kamau knew nothing of lethal weapons and hand-to-hand combat. Tributes from Districts 1,2, and 4 were trained heavily for the Hunger Games should they be reaped, and Kamau stood no chance against muscular boys and girls who'd spent their lives preparing—and even anticipating—the bloody Hunger Games.

And then there was Rue. Kamau was certain that his world would tear into flimsy shards if Rue was drawn to compete. She was intelligent, he knew, but too caring, too small, to stand even the slightest chance. District 11 was among the poorest of the twelve, its economic source being from agriculture. Despite the ample amounts of crop, the citizens of 11 were given little food. Most of it was shipped over to the luxurious people of the Capital. Kamau ripped the weeds harder every time he thought of it. He was a quiet boy, smoothly handsome, and almost always calm. Yet the thing that iced his heart and soul, that brought forth the buried rage within him, was the Capital. Kamau had watched the televised Hunger Games for as long as he could remember, and he was sickened by the media's endorsement of blood and murder. The Hunger Games ended childhood, ended lives, and turned innately good youth into barbaric murderers. Kamau tried to hate the children that killed mercilessly in the arena, but he knew deep down that he understood them. They had to play the Hunger Games, or die. They weren't the real murderers. The Capital was.


	3. Chapter 3

Kamau lay silently on his bed, stomach softly heaving up and down. His family's one-room shack was illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, bright beams streaming in through an open window. He couldn't sleep. No one could. He knew by the constant shuffling in the other beds that his parents and sisters were just as restless as he. The Reaping Ceremony was scheduled for the following day, and nothing could ease the worry that drifted over the families of District 11 the long night before. Kamau couldn't handle the anxiety that was twisting his stomach around like a rubber band. He quietly got out of his bed and tied on his shoes. His parents heard the floor creak, they heard him sigh and leave the shack, but they didn't stop him. They knew he was going to find Rue.

Kamau paced soundlessly through the barren streets. Hanging tin cans clanked and cold, wet laundry flapped and swung back and forth at the will of the strong wind, and Kamau's heart was beating faster and faster. He was always anxious the night before Reaping Day, but this time the knotted feeling of worry was crawling around so insistently, as though something had been foreseen—there she was. She was hunched into a ball, arms hugging her dark, skinny knees. Rue was perched in her usual spot on the willow tree overlooking District 11's main field section, a wistful look smoothly lathered across her face. Her hair blew in thick wisps against the wind, and Kamau was overwhelmed by her beauty. He'd been called crazy for falling in love with Rue, but there was no way he couldn't be. She was so strong, so humorous, and so kind. Her every move was graceful and generous, and her eyes—Kamau couldn't breathe when he felt the soft pressure of Rue's blazing orbs bore into his. It was like sunlight; powerful, yet warm. Kamau swallowed, and began climbing up the tree. He knew Rue could hear him, but she didn't say anything. He settled himself down next to her on the rough, cracked branch, and the two watched in silence as the long, green leaves of the willow tree rocked back and forth.

Kamau cleared his throat. "You know, the stems kind of look like hair. When they all move together."

Rue smiled, but still continued to gaze at the starry sky. "Life's kind of like hair," she said abruptly.

"What do you mean?"

Rue reached for a strand of her hair, and twisted it around her fingertip. "Each and every one of us is just a strand of the universe's hair. At first we might seem unimportant, because there's the entire head of hair to focus on, but if you take away the strands, you've got no hair. So, we might be small in physical form, but our existence itself is a large as we want it to be."

Kamau lightly touched Rue's shoulder. She slowly glanced up at him, and their gazes met. Kamau thought of the first time he'd seen her, years ago. It was during the harvest, and she, a tiny child, was lovingly balancing two babies on her knees. She'd been singing to them, a sweet tune about a happy place. Kamau had felt the love her voice and eyes, and he was amazed by her boldness to comfort strangers. He didn't see that often.

He'd been crazy about Rue ever since. Somehow, she made him feel good in a way no one else could. Her words of wisdom, her kindness, her confidence resonated within his heart, and filled him with elation, with those butterflies that fluttered around and smacked against his rib-cage.

"Rue," he said softly, and somehow, a moment later, his hand was stroking her head of soft hair.

"What would you do if they reaped you?" she asked, with no acknowledgment of his movements.

"I'd fight. What else am I supposed to do?" Kamau answered, cocking his head.

"You'd have a chance, Kamau. But I don't think I would," she replied quietly.

"What are you talking about, Rue? You—you're smart, and kind, and—Rue, you're beautiful. You'd get sponsors," Kamau breathed.

Rue let out a laugh. "Me? Win against 200 pound eighteen year old guys?"

"Rue." Kamau waited until she was staring at him again, and took a breath. "Please, Rue. If I'm picked to go to—the Games, you can't volunteer just to be there with me. You promise?"

"What if I'm picked?" Rue's voice was stable, even confident.

"You won't be," Kamau replied sternly. He knew he had no power over the Reaping, but—Rue couldn't go the Hunger Games. He wouldn't let the Capital steal her innocence, her childhood. He swallowed, and grasped Rue's slim hand. He didn't let go until the sun rose.


End file.
